Shadows of Our Past Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Tanya Jean Russell

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-606-4

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Pauline, my awesome mum, thank you for everything x

  SHADOWS OF OUR PAST

  Tanya Jean Russell

  Copyright © 2018

  Chapter One

  Cradling her head in her hands, Amory Parker looked up at the reflection in the mirror and stifled a sigh at the ridiculous image gazing back at her. Something made much, much worse by the self-inflicted pain that follows when indulging in a bottle of wine the night before. For what felt like the hundredth time she found herself wondering why she had agreed to this. A quick glance at the photo tucked into the corner of the mirror brought the reality of exactly why she was doing this crashing back in.

  There was a tentative knock on the door and she turned her head to the side, groaning as the movement amplified her pain. The grey door, its gloss paint peeling around the edges, eased open and a familiar mop of dark hair appeared.

  “How are we doing in here?” James Lancaster asked her with a cheerfulness that was obviously forced.

  The trepidation he deservedly felt was coming through clearly, and well it might. She was laying the blame for this firmly at his door.

  “I’m wearing pastel pink. How do you think I’m doing?” she replied with her eyebrows raised. “I’m in this to the end, but is it really necessary for me to look like alcoholic Barbie?”

  “You look lovely.”

  She laughed at his genuine tone, stopping abruptly as the sound reverberated through her skull.

  “Lovely, I’m in pink for crying out loud. The last time I wore pink I was six and even then it was under duress.”

  As a redhead with a tendency to blush there was a damned good reason she didn’t wear pink. The green tint to her complexion, courtesy of last night’s jaunt, only added to the horror she saw every time she had to look in the full-length mirror propped haphazardly against the grubby magnolia walls.

  Deciding to deflect attention, Amory figured it was time for James to answer for his actions. Over ten years of working together meant he had known exactly what buttons to press to get her to agree to something. Of course, after a bottle of wine she’d probably have agreed to dance in Leicester Square in her panties, so he wouldn’t have needed to employ much finesse in his persuasion, but that was beside the point.

  “This is all your fault,” she said, not liking the whiney tone in her voice as she spoke, “I told you I was done and you make me do this.”

  He had the nerve to chuckle in response.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Parker, when was the last time anyone was able to make you do something you didn’t want to do?”

  Her frown deepened. He might be right but that wasn’t helping the point she was trying to make now.

  “So sue me, I know my own mind,” she grumbled.

  “Come on, nothing’s really changed. You’ve made your decision about the future. I know better than to try and change your mind about that, but you want to do this. It’s one last run and we all know how much it matters to you.”

  “I know it’s good that you finally got William Halland to agree to this, but surely there is someone better suited to this mission,” she said, keeping her voice quiet to protect her delicate head. “I’d never have agreed if I hadn’t been so pissed when you asked.”

  “There really isn’t anyone else, and don’t try acting like you only agreed because you’d had so much wine to celebrate the Duke’s agreement. I didn’t even ask. I just gave you a headshot of Katja and you volunteered.”

  Unfortunately, she’d been sober enough to know that was the truth. Her eyes turned back to the photo he’d slid across the pub table last night, at the face staring out determinedly despite the fear tensing the expression. He hadn’t had to say a bloody word to her, that picture had been all it had taken to get her onboard.

  “All right,” she said with a sigh. “But I could do without the Stepford wife outfits.”

  She gestured to the rack of suits and upmarket clothes that had been selected for her during the course of the morning. The whole process had developed her mild headache into the current raging hangover.

  With a sheepish expression James began to shuffle on the spot and gaze at his feet.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, what is it now?” she demanded, exasperated.

  Somewhere inside she knew she needed to get a grip and just do her job, but she was tired, hungover, and fed up after trying on what felt like a million outfits.

  “Um, well, it’s just that the beautician is here.”

  He raised his eyes to hers, not quite able to hide his amusement at her current predicament.

  “What the...” she said, the words spluttering out.

  Why the hell had she agreed to this total idiocy? In the last ten years she had lost count of the number of people she’d had to transform herself into, and she’d never once had to deal with a beautician. When the bells had rung in the New Year and she’d resolved that her life would be different this year, this was not what she’d had in mind.

  “Fine,” she said finally, feeling cheered by a brain wave. “I’ll play nice. On one condition.”

  A frown of suspicion crossed James’s face and he wrinkled his forehead in question.

  “We sack the pink … all of it.”

  James smiled, strode across the room, and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Done,” he said, adding, “You know you’re the only person who can do this. Thanks, Amory.”

  The genuine smile of appreciation he gave her reminded her just how much was at stake.

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later, Amory was spending pretty much every day wondering what on earth she was doing. Why had anyone thought she would be a good or convincing choice for this job? The light in the plush exterior office that already felt like it had been home for two years gradually dimmed as the dark clouds that threatened on the horizon drew ever closer.

  Softly and frustratingly slow, she clicked away at the keyboard, sighing at her ridiculous lack of progress. Yet again she had to force herself not to gaze out of the full-length windows opposite the desk to admire the rolling hills and sweeping driveway which led to the house—although “house” was an understatement for a three-hundred-year-old building that could fit her entire flat into the office she was stuck guarding. She made another attempt to concentrate on the complex spreadsheet William Halland had asked her to update.

  Just as she’d begun to feel a degree of control over her limited attention span, William’s office door eased open. His elegant chiseled features formed a frown. His expression made it clear that he found her wanting as his gaze swept over her disheveled hair. Despite her best and ongoing efforts, it wouldn’t stay groomed all day. It had taken twenty minutes that morning to put it into the chignon William had instructed to be worn during office hours, but large chunks had already come loose. She was used to being a chameleon and fitting into any situation. This one was new though. Having spent so long being other people, she wasn’t sure how to be herself anymore,
but two weeks here had confirmed that the real Amory was definitely not groomed and elegant.

  She bristled with the now familiar irritation of being judged on her appearance when she was there for William’s benefit as much as her own.

  Making the superhuman effort required to force her feelings down, she smiled politely at him. She didn’t know how long she’d have to stick around and it would be best for them both if she could keep things neutral, though unfortunately that was becoming harder by the day. She reminded herself yet again that she had to convince people that she truly was William’s efficient and elegant assistant, and to do that she had to fit his type. An unintentional sigh escaped her lips. Rational thinking didn’t make it any easier when she’d rather be wearing jeans and a t-shirt than heels and designer label skirt suits. Today’s beauty was a knee-length lilac combo.

  Having reviewed the hurried research on William, she was aware that his list of conquests read like a “Who’s Who” of the young, rich, and beautiful in England. Apparently, owning a huge estate and having a title made you appealing to the opposite sex. The parade of women who’d worked for William might not have titles, but they’d looked like they belonged in this world. Amory’s own idea of grooming was a bit of mascara and maybe a swipe of lip gloss if it was a really special occasion—heels were never part of the equation. She wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but she was generally confident and comfortable in her own skin. Yet the thought of being held up for comparison against the sort of women William usually employed was not a happy one.

  “Olivia, sort out your hair before anyone sees you, and stop taking your shoes off, it’s not ladylike,” William barked at Amory as he marched off down the hall.

  She rolled her eyes at his retreating back. Years of practice meant adjusting to name changes wasn’t an issue, but this was her first experience with having to worry about looking groomed, and she wasn’t enjoying it.

  Watching him disappear down the corridor, she wondered for the hundredth time since starting the job how he managed to keep his blond hair so perfect. Not to mention the parade of suits that could only have been made for him the way they clung to his lean body in all the right places, so wrinkle free. It was seriously unfair. She had definitely been given the short straw by the grooming fairy.

  Listening to the fading footsteps as William walked into the main house, as usual giving no indication of where he was off to or how long he would be, she hoped he’d be back soon. Despite the fact that every word out of his mouth seemed to have been selected with the sole purpose of irritating her, he needed to be here.

  She’d been waiting for days and there had still been no call from Berishka. She pulled a desk drawer open and fished around for a chocolate bar. For a brief panicked moment she couldn’t find one. Surely she hadn’t eaten them all already? Her fingers curled around the smooth plastic of the last one and she made a mental note to restock as a matter of urgency before tearing open the wrapper and taking a large bite. She should probably savor it, especially as it was her last one, but she’d never been very good at delayed gratification. Instead, it disappeared so quickly she was slightly surprised to realize it was all gone when she’d finished.

  Reluctantly she uncurled her legs and slipped the dreaded shoes back on. Thankfully the large mahogany desk meant William hadn’t been able to see what she’d had to do to her skirt to get her legs curled up under her. His response to that would have been worth a chuckle or two, if she didn’t have to stick around for an indeterminate period of time afterward.

  Used to action, she couldn’t understand how anyone could want or enjoy a job that involved sitting down for so much of the day, but she was determined to do whatever it took to make sure this plan succeeded. She supposed she should be appreciative to be in warm, luxurious, and so far nonthreatening surroundings, but it felt so different from her normal experiences that she was feeling a little uncomfortable. Despite, or maybe because of, the absence of imminent danger, she couldn’t relax.

  As she stood she shifted her hips awkwardly, trying to pull her skirt back into place when she became aware of the familiar sensation of someone watching her. Casually she looked up and felt all the air slam from her chest.

  Without any instruction from her brain her eyes travelled up a pair of long, obviously male legs wrapped in faded denim that hung casually. Gulping, she took in the sheer solid muscle of the man in front of her. A checked flannel shirt hung open over a plain t-shirt. The sleeves were rolled up revealing muscular arms that were tan despite the time of year. A dark tattoo ran up the inside of one arm which strained against the fabric and led to broad shoulders. The man was topped with a mop of shaggy dark blond hair that was well overdue a cut, and a beard that looked like it had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with a lack of interest in shaving. Amory looked into his face and felt her heart stop as the blood rushed to her head. She was looking at the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Unfortunately, he was also familiar to her. It had been ten years since she’d last seen Jack, but she would have known him anywhere.

  Panic began to rise in her throat so she tried to block out the image in front of her and concentrate on controlling her breathing, which despite what her distracted brain thought, was not an optional activity. She could not afford to pass out now.

  Through the haze she could see Jack’s eyes exploring her body speculatively as he took her in, but she was too stunned to care what he thought of her. She sucked in a deep breath and focused on releasing it slowly before sucking in another. None of the techniques that she’d learned over the years to control herself were working. The room seemed to shrink, its walls closing in until her entire awareness was reduced to his presence.

  Blood pulsed through her veins and her own heartbeat was the only sound she could register. He raised an eyebrow as he looked cheerfully at her hands frozen on the hem of her skirt. After ten years and everything that had happened, he was entertained by her lack of grace. Nice.

  Standing casually, clearly at ease, he let out a gentle laugh. The deep sound rumbled through her chest and heated her body even while she silently panicked.

  “Have we met before?” he asked, his eyes tightening slightly, as though he was trying to place her.

  At the realization he didn’t recognize her, her breathing finally reappeared. She managed to exhale a breath she’d been holding for God only knew how long.

  “No.”

  So much for appearing unconcerned, she thought at her weak response. The words “he’s still gorgeous” were repeating through her brain on a loop and muddling her thoughts. Jack shrugged his broad shoulders in response, the quizzical expression not quite leaving his face, but allowing her to breathe a little easier. As she finally yanked her skirt into place, her momentum carried her hand forward, and she promptly knocked over the cup of tea that had gone cold while she’d been trying to get to grips with her work.

  Jack strode across the room to the desk. His long legs made short work of the distance between them, and he quickly started helping her mop up the cold liquid. With shaking hands, she tried to rescue the keyboard by draining it into the bin under the desk. It was a testament to how shaken up she was that she’d done something so uncharacteristically clumsy.

  He was so close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. The smell of a masculine woodsy aftershave that he hadn’t used ten years ago, combined with the familiar scent that was all him. It was disconcerting, triggering a physical response that made her feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs. It certainly wasn’t helping with the need to calm down and regain control of vital brain functions. Like the ones that reminded her body that panting and drooling were not good options, especially if she wanted to be able to utter a word of more than one syllable.

  She watched as strong hands moved gently across the desk, soaking the liquid up before turning to dump the handful of tea-sodden tissue into the bin. The dark, jagged tattoo on the inside of his tanned forearm ripple
d with his movements.

  “Where’s William?” he asked, a tension seeming to leak into the question.

  Regaining her composure, at least outwardly, she answered, feeding him the carefully constructed lie as she spoke.

  “I’m sorry the Duke isn’t available at the moment. I’m Olivia, his assistant. Was he expecting you?”

  He smiled gently at her and her heart lurched.

  “I’m his brother, Jackson Halland. Don’t worry, I’ll find him in the house,” he replied with a half-smile as he shifted his long body from the edge of her desk.

  “Um. Oh. Um,” she began. Her mind reeled from his statement. She needed to say something but had no idea what.

  “You didn’t know he had a brother,” Jack said, his words flat and clipped.

  She shrugged helplessly. What the hell was wrong with her? She was a professional. She’d made an entire career out of dealing with the unexpected and handling any situation the job threw at her. She was better than this, but somehow she couldn’t pull herself together enough to react properly. Instead she simply shrugged.

  At the gesture Jack sucked in a breath and nodded his head, as though he’d been expecting her not to know about him. Without another word he turned on his heels and walked away.

  “Thanks for the help,” Amory shouted to his disappearing back, unable to prevent herself from staring at the perfect curve of his bottom as his long confident strides moved further away, taking the edge of her panic with them.

  The sexy tilt of the side of his mouth as Jack had smiled had jolted her back in time with a flood of desire that she couldn’t remember feeling for a long time. Who was she trying to kid? She knew perfectly well that the last time she’d felt that level of desire, it had been in direct response to that same man.